Mia’s World: An Extraordinary Gift. An Unforgettable Journey

I sat in a hotel room in Bath, waiting. In the year since the publication of my first book, I’d seen more hotel rooms than I had in the rest of my 42 years. I lit a cigarette, and glanced around the empty room. The curtains were heavy and shiny; the table set with cups and saucers. I thought of the warmth of my kitchen on the Isle of Sheppey, filled with the noise and liveliness of my family, my clients and friends. What was I doing here, miles from home?

People imagine psychics don’t ask questions. We’re meant to know everything but, although we are party to special and important information, we are still human. Stubbing out the cigarette, I got off the bed and padded around, hoping to relieve the wariness I could feel building. Catching sight of my reflection in the mirrored door of the wardrobe, I fumbled in my bag for my lipstick. The familiar ritual of applying it was calming.

I had been working as a psychic for more than 20 years, giving readings to a circle of people that grew by word of mouth as my practice developed. Now I was becoming a public face, a woman known for her psychic powers and, any minute now, a journalist from a leading magazine would arrive to interview me.

My daughter Tanya and I had read that magazine avidly, laughing at the gossip and glamour of celebrity lives. It was odd to think that now people wanted my story. But I had no illusions: our glories are transitory. Life is a wheel, bringing those at the bottom to the top – and, inevitably, down to the bottom again.

All the same, I felt apprehensive. I believe in what I do, and I didn’t want my words misinterpreted by yet another close-minded journalist.

I jumped at the sound of the telephone.

‘Rosalyn Chissick is on her way up,’ the receptionist said.

A moment later I opened the door to a woman in her thirties, dark curls tumbling around an intense, yet friendly face.

Fifteen minutes before my appointment with Mia, I was sitting in the sun in a park, formulating questions for our interview.

‘People seeing glimpses of the past or the future? Psychics are deluding themselves or the public or both,’ I thought to myself. The vast psychic industry was probably an elaborate and lucrative scam. Nevertheless, I had to acknowledge another part of me – one that was open to being persuaded otherwise.

The idea of interviewing Mia had come from my editor. She told me that Mia had a remarkable reputation as a clairvoyant specializing in psychic predictions and hauntings. My brief was to try and discover whether her special powers were for real.

I did my homework. I found out that psychic readings attract all types: hard-headed business people, lost souls in search of guidance, curious dabblers wanting an intriguing party trick – even declared sceptics seeking logic-confounding truths. Psychic readings seem to imbue people with a sense of mystery, they feel party to a greater truth. We are fascinated by the unknown. It seems we all have a need to believe in something bigger – more powerful – than ourselves.

As I knocked on Mia’s hotel-room door, I imagined a mysterious lady in a fringed shawl, but as the door swung open, Mia was no Gypsy Rose Lee. Tall with long blonde hair and a welcoming smile, her first words to me were ‘Hello, darling.’ She seemed open, and very down to earth.

I knew instantly that Roz was not impressed by anyone but respected everyone. And I knew that she was committed to the truth. There were no chairs in the room, but Roz quickly settled herself on the large bed, taking files out of her bag and rummaging for pens.

I busied myself, making tea with the hotel milk cartons and sugar sachets. Roz didn’t mess around. Pen poised, she was ready to start.

‘So, what was your first psychic experience?’ I asked. Mia sat down and lit the first of many cigarettes.

I didn’t know how Roz would respond, but she looked genuinely interested and this was a refreshing change from the rash of interviews that I’d done over the last few months.

‘I was 22. I didn’t believe in anything – God, ghosts, heaven, hell. I thought it was totally false – conjured up out of humanity’s fear of its own mortality. Then one very ordinary day, I was trying to cook tea and the children were fighting in the front room, so I went in to see what was going on. Something caught my attention on the television. I was standing there watching it when, out of nowhere, a man’s voice said, “Your toast is burning.” I went into the kitchen and discovered that the grill pan was on fire.’